


new pup in town

by radialarch



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M, dogs or metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14247369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: They introduce Pundit to Lucca at Tommy's place. It's a carefully choreographed affair, which manages to go to hell approximately thirty seconds after Pundit sets foot onto Tommy’s impeccably manicured lawn. First, Lovett unclips Pundit from her lead.An alarming chorus of growls later, they banish Pundit into the house.





	new pup in town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moogle62](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogle62/gifts).



> moog, i really enjoyed your prompts, so here's a story about tommy and lovett dealing with their dogs! i hope you like it.

> **Jon Lovett** @jonlovett · [2 November 2017](https://twitter.com/jonlovett/status/926181874736746498)  
>  @TVietor08 is thinking about getting a dog. Need to prebut. We don't know anything about this dog.

 

* * *

 

The entire office is gathered around Tommy when Lovett walks in. “Hey,” he says, detouring to hang up Pundit’s leash, “what's going on?” 

“Tommy's new dog,” says Kari. “Have you seen her? She’s so small!”

“His what?” Lovett blinks and shoulders through a knot of interns until he's at Tommy's elbow. “You got a _dog_?”

Tommy gives a guilty sort of start. “Hey. Well. I mean, she just got born, so I won't be able to take her for a while, but… yeah.”

“Oh,” Lovett says blankly. “I didn't even know you were looking.” He looks down at Tommy's phone, displaying a pile of puppies with dark damp fur, eyes slitted shut. There's an unformed air about them, like someone's yet to make the final pass that would turn them into real dogs. “When did that happen?”

“Well, I've been thinking about it,” Tommy says. “I guess ever since I moved down here. I was trying to be,” he frowns, “sure.”

“Sure?” Travis says, laughing. “About you, getting a dog? Are you serious?”

“Hey, more factors than you’d think,” Tommy parries, easy, and turns back to Lovett. “I was gonna talk to you, actually,” he says, “you know, about—”

“About you getting a dog?” Lovett forces out a laugh. “Hey, you don’t need my permission, I’m not your mom. Do whatever you want. Get a dog. Get ten dogs. If there’s one thing we don’t have, it’s definitely not enough dogs around here.”

Tommy’s searching Lovett’s face for something. Lovett doesn’t know if he finds it. “So you don’t,” Tommy says slowly, “you’re okay with—”

“Tommy, I don’t know if you know this, but until you get down on one knee and ask the question, your life is totally yours to do with as you please. I’m just a spectator, here, looking at your dog pics, same as all the rest of us.”

That does it; Tommy’s gaze skitters away from him. “I can still take Pundit,” he offers, conciliatory, “on runs, I know she’s used to it.”

Lovett’s pretty sure that’s worse: Tommy, starting out with his brand new dog, and taking Pundit along out of pity. “No, it’s okay,” he says, trying to sound normal. “We got along fine when you were in San Francisco, you know. I can handle it.”

“Lovett—”

“Tommy,” Lovett says, losing patience. “If you’re trying to say that I’m not a good dog owner, know now that I’m gonna be really offended.”

Tommy looks taken aback. “No, you’re great with Pundit,” he says, quick and sincere enough that Lovett is, despite himself, a little flattered. “I just wanted to make sure that everything’s fine. With you.”

“Everything,” Lovett says, “is fine. And now I’m gonna go do some work. Like the _rest_ of you animals should be doing,” he adds, voice pitched loud enough for the whole office. “What are we, a dog shelter? Or a wildly successful business?”

 

 

The problem, obviously, is that everything is not fine.

“Look,” Lovett says a week later, giving up on the email he hasn’t been writing for half an hour. “I just don’t see why you need a dog.”

“What’s that?” Tommy’s across the office. He’s supposed to be doing — actually, Lovett doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing. Prepping for something, probably, Tommy’s pretty much always prepping for something.

At the moment, however, he’s on the sofa with Pundit in his lap, petting down her sides and murmuring at her. It’s probably nonsense. Dogs make a lot of smart people go very dumb, and Lovett’s never known a worse case than Tommy.

“Saw the pictures you posted,” Lovett says. There were a lot. Tommy’s instagram used to be mostly Tommy posing attractively on boats, and now it’s all a blur of tiny lumps of fur. “You sure you want one of those? They looked kind of squashed.”

“They’re actual babies,” Tommy says, laughing. “Like, two weeks old. I’m not gonna take her until she’s weaned, it should be fine.”

Pundit’s started wriggling, probably as a protest against the promise of usurpation. Tommy doesn’t seem to receive the message, though, just drops a kiss to the top of her head before he lets her scramble away. Pundit, the traitor, wanders into the hall instead of coming back to Lovett, which means Lovett has to continue waging war all by himself.

“Look, I’m just saying, we don’t know anything about her, what she’s like, how she’s gonna fit into the office — you’re the only one who’s met her, it’s not like she sent in a resume.”

“We’re not hiring her, this isn’t a _job_ ,” Tommy says, “and Jon came with me last time,” just as Jon walks into the room, Leo a step behind.

“What did I do?” Jon says. “Lovett, you know Pundit just peed in the studio.”

“What was she doing in the studio?” Lovett says. “She’s not supposed to be in there if we’re not recording. It was probably Leo.” He aims an accusing glance at Leo, though the impact is perhaps blunted by the fact that he’s trotted over to lie calmly under Jon’s desk. Leo’s the most easygoing dog Lovett’s ever met, which seems useful since he spends most of his time being lugged around like a teddy bear. What is it they say about dogs and their owners?

“Sometimes you don’t close the door all the way when we’re done,” Tommy offers, like he’s being helpful. “And then she just noses her way back in there. Jon, you came to see the puppy with me last week, you liked her, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jon says, like he could possibly meet a dog he didn’t like. “She was cute. Small—”

“Well, she’s the runt,” Tommy says, a touch defensively, “but once I get her and she’s not getting pushed around—”

“No, yeah, I know.” Jon takes a seat at his desk and pulls Leo onto his lap. “I was gonna say, small but feisty, I think she’ll be great when she gets settled in with you.”

“‘Feisty’?” Lovett repeats. “So she’s gonna be a troublemaker, that’s what you’re saying.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Tommy. “Look, Pundit’s feisty, that doesn’t mean she’s not—”

“Excuse me?” Lovett says, incredulous. “Pundit’s an angel, she’s perfect, there’s never been a better-behaved dog—”

“She literally just peed in the studio,” Tommy says without missing a beat. “I’m not saying she’s not great, but maybe be a little more open to examining her flaws.”

Jon’s laughing silently behind his screens, which is how Lovett knows he’s lost this battle. “We don’t know it was her,” he says, getting up from his chair, “and frankly, it’s deeply unfair to slander her like this when she’s not even here to defend herself.”

“Yeah, better go find her before she pees in the kitchen, too,” Tommy says ruthlessly.

“I'm not gonna have this,” Lovett declares, stalking away. “Really finding out who our true friends are today.” All the way into the hall, he’s followed by the sound of Jon's hysterical wheezing.

 

 

Of course Tommy was going to get a dog.

Tommy loves dogs. He grew up with them; Lovett’s seen the pictures, Tommy tiny and blond and gap-toothed, arms flung around a Newfie bigger than he is. His mom still has a couple who’ll bowl him over when he goes home for the holidays, and Lovett had found Tommy down in the press office once, his phone wedged against his shoulder, stealing time none of them ever had to ruffle a hand down Bo’s back. He’d known all the way back in 2009 that Tommy wasn’t gonna be satisfied giving over his affections to dogs who wandered in and out of his life. Tommy was a dog person. He wanted a dog.

And it’s so weird, the way this works, because the truth is: Lovett had never planned on getting Pundit at all.

 

 

On Saturday morning, Tommy posts another picture of some out of focus puppies. Half an hour later, Jon posts a stack of waffles and tags Tommy and Emily, which is how Lovett knows they went to brunch.

No one, it must be pointed out, invited Lovett to brunch. He glares at his phone for a minute before deliberately dropping it on the sofa, where it promptly slides past his thigh and falls into the gap between the cushion and the back of the couch. “Argh,” he says, drawn out and loud. “Ugh.”

From the kitchen, Pundit offers a bark.

“You’re being replaced, you know,” he yells gloomily back at her. “Hope you enjoy the superfluous life.”

She trots over into the living room, her muzzle wet and tail wagging, and tries to clamber into his lap, unbothered. No reason why she should be, he supposes. Dogs have it pretty good. She’s got him to deal with all her problems.

He’s turned on the PS4 and gotten pretty deep into _Shadow of the Colossus_ when the doorbell rings. Pundit lifts her head from where she’d been leaving a slow-growing puddle of drool on Lovett’s sweats, ears pricking up.

“I’m not gonna get that,” Lovett tells her, and kills another Colossus. “Who do you think is coming over unannounced at noon on a Saturday?”

“Lovett, I know you’re in there,” says Jon, muffled through the door. “Pick up your damn phone.”

 _What the fuck_ , Lovett mouths silently, hitting pause. “I’ve untethered myself from the world of electronics,” he shouts, fishing one-handed in the sofa cushions. Yep, okay, he’s got a bunch of texts. “Have a nice brunch?”

“Yeah, it was good,” Jon says, unrepentant. “If you don’t let us in, I’m gonna let Leo poop on your porch.”

“I don’t see how that’s any kind of incentive,” Lovett says, but heaves a sigh and gets to his feet, ignoring the dirty look Pundit gives him when he wiggles his thigh out from under her head. “I don’t want him to poop _in_ the house.”

Jon doesn’t say anything else until Lovett’s opening the door. “He already went,” he says brightly, shouldering his way past Lovett. Leo radiates innocence as he follows Jon in. “Hey, Pundit! Leo’s here!”

“She’s not blind,” Lovett points out. “Or deaf, or— what the hell’s it called when you can’t smell?”

“I have no idea,” says Jon. “Anyway, I texted you, but you weren’t picking up, so—”

“See, that? That was probably a clue.”

“—so I came to ask,” Jon continues, undeterred, “wanna go hiking up Runyon?”

“What, now?”

“Yeah, before it gets too hot. We can get lunch after, if you want.”

“I already went to the gym this morning,” Lovett lies. “Enough exercise for the day, don’t you think? Don’t wanna waste all the movement, I might run out.”

“That’s why we’re getting lunch,” Jon says. He’s not bothering to suppress his grin at all. “To recharge. Plus, Pundit wants to go, don’t you, girl? You’re not taking _her_ to Barry’s Bootcamp.”

Pundit whines at them from where she’s still splayed across the sofa, then scrambles down to sniff noses with Leo. Jon jerks his head pointedly at them both. Damn her. Lovett probably should have taken her running this morning. Jon’s cheerfully, impossibly insistent when he gets an idea into his head, and this is what happens when Lovett leaves himself an opening.

“If she loses a fight with a cactus,” he says, slanting a look at his shoes and giving in with ill grace, “ _you_ can deal with it.”

“Or maybe,” Jon says, pleased now, like he doesn’t get his own way nine times out of ten. “You should teach your dog not to get into fights she can’t win.”

 

 

Lovett will give Jon this: it’s a nice day out. He would’ve preferred to appreciate it from the comfort of his home, but the sky is blue, the sun shining — a great Kodak moment, really, Jon and the pair of golden dogs bounding at his heels.

And trailing behind, sticky and breathless, there’s Lovett.

Jon's taken a seat on a broad rock by the time Lovett gets up to the point, watching Leo and Pundit tussle over a stick. There's a faint sheen of sweat over his brow and his sunglasses are jammed firmly over his nose. He looks great. Lovett glowers at him from behind his own sunglasses.

“Maybe we should get another pull toy for the office,” Jon says, thoughtful. “Or— my parents keep sending me links. You think an iFetch’ll be too distracting?”

“Oh, come on,” Lovett snaps, too tired to keep himself in check. “Stop stalling.”

“What?”

“You maneuvered me all the way out here so I couldn't run away and you could talk about _dog toys_? Gimme a break.”

Jon’s expression turns sheepish, the way it always does when he gets caught plotting something. “So,” he starts, shifting over to give Lovett room to sit. “You know, Tommy thinks you hate Lucca.”

Lovett stays where he is, arms crossed, staring down at Jon's upturned face. “Is this an intervention?” he says incredulously. “‘Dear Prudence, I can’t bring my dog to work because my coworker hates her, what do I do? Sincerely, Dogged in LA.’” He watches Jon start laughing, his head thrown back, and keeps going. “‘Dear Dogged: first of all, why are you bringing your dogs to work? That’s no way to run a business!’” He pauses. “Wait, Lucca? I thought he was holding off on naming her until he had her.”

“Uh oh,” Jon says, swallowing the rest of his giggles. “He, uh, he was workshopping some ideas.”

“Of course he was.” Lovett throws up his arms. “Look, what do you want me to say? I don’t hate his dog. I’ve never met her! I’m just the guy sitting in my house in sweatpants while you two go on puppy playdates and then Instagram your crêpes. Honestly, what kind of coastal elite— this is why Trump won the election, _frankly_ —”

Jon cracks a grin at that, but his gaze is sharp and assessing when he asks, “Would you have come? If Tommy asked.”

“Yes,” Lovett says, and then, “Maybe. I don’t know.” He turns to watch the dogs — Leo yawning in the sun, Pundit nosing into a scraggly bush — and comes back to Jon, still looking curiously at him. “The point is, he could have. Asked.”

Jon doesn’t respond to that right away. He clicks for Leo instead, lets him roll over and reaches down to rub at his belly. When he straightens back up, his nose is faintly crinkled, like he’s thinking through a tricky problem.

“Emily and I thought Tommy was gonna get a dog like, years ago,” he finally says.

“Smart,” Lovett says. “Me too.”

“Look, you’ve got Pundit, right,” Jon says. “And we have Leo. Getting Lucca — I mean, it’d be good for Tommy.”

Jon got Leo two months after he moved out to California. Lovett thought of it as a declaration of normalcy, though maybe Jon hadn’t seen it that way. Jon had spent his twenties writing words to put into the mouth of the President of the United States. It meant a job where the only certainty was the crazy hours, where your schedule was dictated by the newest disaster. A life in LA, with a regular running route and a Daily Beast article due every two weeks and a dog — in many ways, it was the exact opposite of what Jon had had in the White House.

Lovett got Pundit in the thick of election season, because he was stressed and afraid and wanted something to love him even when he didn’t like himself. It was a bad reason to get a dog. He’d known that, and he’d done it anyway.

He’d do it again, still.

“I don’t,” he tells Jon, with a pleading lilt he can’t quite squash, “I don’t hate Tommy’s dog.”

Pundit trots over with a stick hanging halfway out of her mouth. Jon examines it gravely, running his fingers carefully over the sharp edges, and then offers it to Lovett. “Good,” he says, and smiles. “She probably doesn’t hate you, either.”

 

 

Lovett meets Lucca for the first time at the office, cradled to Tommy’s chest with her bright eyes peeking out over the top of his forearm. “You sure you had to banish all our dogs?” he asks, shifting uneasily on the sofa. “Could’ve introduced them first. I mean, they speak the same language. Dog. Canine? Whatever it is when they sniff each other and then decide to be friends.”

“I told you I’ve been reading up,” Tommy says, because of course he has. “It said older dogs can get territorial when a new puppy is around. I figured, Pundit and Leo spend enough time here that they might feel possessive, better to be safe.”

“Pundit knows how to share,” Lovett says automatically. God, Lucca’s tiny. Jon got Leo as a puppy, but Pundit had been nearly two. Lovett hadn’t wanted something too small, something that’d depend on him so absolutely. He’d known enough not to trust himself.

Tommy’s mouth twitches. “Right, Pundit’s an angel,” he says. “So you wanna hold her? She’s getting wiggly, I think she wants to meet you.”

“I like these pants,” Lovett says, but he shifts in his seat anyway, leans back to make room for her. “So you know, if she pees on them—”

“You got them on Amazon and they cost ten bucks,” Tommy says, bending down to deposit her carefully atop Lovett’s thighs. “I’ll Cash App you.”

Lucca looks up from Lovett’s lap, her paws waving in the air. It takes her a moment to get oriented, but then she plants her front paws on his stomach, staring up at his face, and something about her expression makes Lovett smile. “Hi,” he says softly, hands loosely cupped around her. “So you’re Lucca, huh.”

The tip of Lucca’s tongue is lolling out of her mouth, small and pink. She twitches her nose at him for several seconds before she starts scrambling up his torso. “Hey, hey,” he says, feeling the press of her tiny claws through the fabric of his shirt. “You want me to charge Tommy for the shirt, too? Do you?”

He’s laughing, letting himself slide down on the sofa until he’s nearly flat and she’s at his shoulder, nosing into his neck. “Yeah, there we go, hey, good job, you made it.” She’s so soft, he thinks, marveling as he fits his hands to her sides, warm and fragile and full of life. Her tail wags furiously while she licks down his neck. It’s so easy, isn’t it, for a dog to fall in love with you; to fall right back, when that dog’s wobbling along the ladder of your ribs, heartbeat a rapid flutter between your palms. Lucca’s fluffy head is pressed to the underside of Lovett’s jaw and it has nothing to do with the sudden unsteadiness in his breath.

Elijah’s camera is trained on them both, when he raises his head; beyond that is Tommy, looking down at Lucca, the corner of his mouth curved gently upward. It's what he wanted all along, Lovett thinks, a dog to call his own, something he could love limitlessly, unchecked. He's been waiting for a long time, Tommy, to find that for himself.

And it’s not like any of this is a surprise. It’s just that Lovett had ignored the facts. Tommy had moved down to LA; they’d rented an office for the company and Tommy had started taking Pundit on runs, and Lovett had let himself believe that nothing would have to change. He hadn’t wanted to think about Tommy building a life here, something new and fresh without a space for Pundit — without Lovett.

“Here we go,” he tells Lucca, exhaling, “yeah, there you are,” and presses her, warm and squirming, back into Tommy's hands. “Good dog.” He tries not to feel like he’s lost something.

 

 

They introduce Pundit to Lucca at Tommy's place. It's a carefully choreographed affair, which manages to go to hell approximately thirty seconds after Pundit sets foot onto Tommy’s impeccably manicured lawn. First, Lovett unclips Pundit from her lead.

An alarming chorus of growls later, they banish Pundit into the house.

“Is that how it went with Leo?” Lovett asks weakly, flopping down into the grass to try and calm his heart. Jon had brought Leo over yesterday, so they didn’t overwhelm Lucca all at once. They’d gotten along great, according to Twitter; it’d been _very_ picturesque. “She didn’t hurt her, right? There was no biting.”

“I don’t think so.” Tommy’s carefully examining Lucca in his lap. “No, looks like she’s just surprised. Leo didn’t do that, so she probably wasn’t expecting it.”

“But Lucca didn’t jump all over Leo,” Lovett prompts, sitting up. “She probably startled Pundit.”

“Oh, no, she definitely jumped all over Leo,” Tommy says, wry. “Leo just kind of lay down and let her climb all over him.”

“I mean, that’s not a normal dog reaction, though,” Lovett protests. “You’re a dog, you know, you’ve got millions of years of survival instincts, what do you do when someone jumps on top of your head? You growl! You fight it off. You don’t just roll over and let it do whatever.”

Tommy’s giving him a weird look. “You don’t have to defend Pundit,” he says. “This kind of thing is pretty common, according to what I read. We can just try again later. Hopefully they’ll get more used to each other.”

“I’m not—” Lovett curls his fingers against his thighs and tries again. “I know she didn’t do anything wrong, it’s not Pundit’s fault.”

“Are you saying it’s Lucca’s?” Tommy says slowly. “She’s a baby, she doesn’t know any better.”

“Am I— what is _with_ you and this dog?” Lovett can feel himself start to spin out, can’t do a damn thing about it. “You think Pundit doesn’t like her, and _I_ don’t like her—”

“Lovett,” Tommy says, straightening up and letting Lucca scramble off his lap. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t,” Lovett insists, feels a mortifying tickle start up at the back of his throat, “I _don’t_ ,” and, when Lucca presses one paw up onto his knee, her head cocked in a bright curious expression, bursts into tears.

“Lovett,” Tommy says, alarmed. “What the hell?”

“Fuck,” Lovett chokes out, wiping an eye with the heel of his hand. “Here, you take her.” He presses Lucca blindly in Tommy’s direction, until he can feel her being picked up in Tommy’s steady hands, and then pushes himself up to his feet and escapes into the house.

 

 

“Lovett?” Tommy says. “C’mon, open the door.”

It may have been, Lovett reflects, a tactical mistake to hide out in Tommy’s laundry room. He should have fled the premises when he had the chance. By now he could’ve been on his way to Alaska; instead, he’s braced here next to the washing machine with his back against the door, Pundit squirming in his arms. It’s almost as undignified as facing down an eight-week-old puppy and crying about it, if you think about it.

“Unless you’re really desperate to do your laundry,” Lovett croaks, “go away.”

“Look, will you just let me in?” Tommy says. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Pundit thinks this is a great idea. She wriggles out from from the crook of Lovett’s elbow to sniff hopefully at the door. Lovett glares balefully at the wall for a moment longer before he shifts further inside and reaches up for the door knob.

Naturally, the first thing Tommy says when he walks in is, “What was that?”

He’s still holding Lucca in his arms. “I thought you weren’t going to talk about it,” Lovett says, faintly resentful, and pulls Pundit into his lap. Two can play at that game, and he’s had Pundit longer; he’s had more practice.

Tommy arranges himself on the floor, apparently prepared to stay here a good while. “I lied,” he says. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you—”

“— _nothing_ —”

“—but you’ve been weird about Lucca ever since I told you I was gonna get her—”

“Weird? How have I been weird?”

“I don’t know, like you didn’t want me to!” Tommy shoves a hand through his hair, the color high on his face. “You know, it’s the _dogs_ that are supposed to get territorial—”

“Okay, well, that’s bullshit,” Lovett snaps. “I think it’s fucking fantastic that you got a dog, because, you know, that’s what we were really lacking around here, what with Leo, and Kushi, and Stanley, and Pundit—”

He’s squeezing Pundit too hard, he realizes, and makes himself loosen his grip. She twists around to lick him on the cheek, a little uncertain, and Lovett should tell her it’s okay, that she hasn’t done anything wrong, but all his words have gone abruptly missing.

Tommy looks bewildered. “Yeah, they’re all great dogs,” he agrees. “But it’s not like— they weren’t _mine_ , Lovett, come on.”

“I know,” Lovett grits out. “So you got yours. It’s great. She’s great.”

Something shifts in Tommy’s expression then. “Are we,” he says, halting, “is this still about the dogs?”

“Sorry Pundit doesn’t like your dog,” Lovett says, swallowing, “I guess you can just hang out with Jon and Leo, and we’ll just—” He leans back, exhaling, and Pundit whines, butting him softly in the chest. “It’s fine, I don’t need this,” he says, winces at the way his voice cracks at the end. “I’ve got Pundit, all right?”

Pundit has to scramble to her feet when Lovett gets up, but Tommy catches him by a wrist before he can get away. “Hey,” he says. “You know this isn’t like— my dog isn’t a metaphor, you know that, right?”

“Obviously I know that, I’m not—”

“Lucca’s gonna get better,” Tommy keeps on, voice soft. “She’ll figure out how to get along with Pundit. They’ll make friends. It’ll be all right.”

“That’s not,” Lovett starts. Stops, and takes a shuddering breath and keeps going, because he should have done this from the start. “But it’s always gonna be something,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Eventually. You got Lucca, and then it’ll be something else, someone else, and then you’re not gonna need—” _Need me_ , he nearly says, but that’s wrong, because Tommy’s never needed him. It's always been a question of when he’d stop wanting him around.

“I didn’t,” Tommy says, a crinkle over his nose, puzzling something out, “Lovett, I didn’t get Lucca because I didn’t like Pundit anymore.”

“Good, ‘cause that’d be stupid.”

“I thought,” and Tommy’s flushing, the pink creeping up the tips of his ears, “it felt like it was time.”

“To get a dog?” Lovett says, uncomprehending.

“To get a dog, and.” Tommy’s still holding onto him, an urgency in his gaze like he wants Lovett to understand, “Figure out what else I wanted.”

It takes Lovett a second, and then he’s suddenly lightheaded, dizzy. He thumps back onto the floor, looks at Tommy, a faint rush in his ears. “You never said,” he accuses. “You could’ve— any time! I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“You did say,” Tommy returns, a grin tugging up a corner of his mouth. “But it’s so hard to tell when it’s serious, with you.”

Lovett has to chew that over. “Damn,” he finally mutters, slumping back until his shoulders hit the wall. “Hoisted by my—”

“—your own petard,” Tommy says, laughing now. “Absolutely.” He’s still smiling when he says, “So do you want—”

“What,” Lovett says, and then, “Yes,” before he can think about it, before he gets scared and changes his mind. Tommy’s pressing up onto his knees, leaning toward Lovett steady and careful, and Lovett thinks, _fuck it_ , reaches to curl his fingers into the front of Tommy’s shirt and pull him in through the rest of the distance, until he can fit his mouth to Tommy’s.

When Lovett got Pundit in October of 2016, he hadn’t been sure if he knew how to be loved. But it’s more than a year later and maybe he’s had enough practice, by now, to figure out how to do this, too.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, pulling back. Tommy stares back at him, mouth wet, a little dazed about the eyes. It’s pretty gratifying, actually. “What the hell happened to the dogs?”

“Oh,” Tommy says, blinking. “Shit.”

They find Pundit determinedly crossing the living room, head down, making away from Lucca’s line of sight, Lucca just as doggedly chasing her back. “Well,” Lovett says after a minute. “That’s progress.”

Tommy laughs, slings an arm around Lovett’s shoulders and pulls him in. “It’ll get better,” he says, warm and fond and, against all odds, sure in a way that makes Lovett believe him. “These two, they can figure it out.” 

 

* * *

 

Lucca

**PRESIDOODLE**

[](https://www.instagram.com/luccagrams/)

Lucca is the newest member of Crooked Media, a visionary who believes in the power of resistance, persistence, and, if all else fails, a pair of mournful eyes.

She is too young to vote, but not too young to make a difference. She currently spends her days fighting for more pets, bigger and softer beds, and for Pundit to give her back her favorite ball.

_(ed. Pundit doesn’t have her ball, you propagandist. Have you checked under the bed?)_


End file.
